Snuff the Magic Dragon (and other Bombay Family Bedtime Stories) (Greatest Hits Mysteries)

Home > Other > Snuff the Magic Dragon (and other Bombay Family Bedtime Stories) (Greatest Hits Mysteries) > Page 4
Snuff the Magic Dragon (and other Bombay Family Bedtime Stories) (Greatest Hits Mysteries) Page 4

by Langtry, Leslie


  Mom laughed. “Ah the good old days! Now—” She pointed at our huge stack of fliers. “ —it’s all spin and publicity.”

  Lydia nodded. “Things sure have changed.”

  Ria and I rolled our eyes. I mean really! Listening to them talk about the “good old days” was nauseating.

  * * *

  The next morning we were up at dawn and getting ready. Ria and I had to be at the arena early with our fliers. Mom and Aunt Lydia had rounded up everybody they knew and were going to tailgate in front of the stadium. They were even taking extra cloaks. So prepared!

  I personally liked the tailgate idea. Mom thought a drunken party before the event would encourage people even more to throw their clothes. It was an epic idea.

  It took a little longer for Ria and me to get ready. The wigs were hot and a total pain, but we wanted to make them look like our real hair. We added more makeup than normal to further disguise ourselves and even wore colored chitons. Normally, we just wear white. Two blondes were rare in Greece. Twin blondes would be a huge novelty—which would help with flier distribution. That was what we were counting on.

  The tailgate party was in full swing when we set up at the arena. Ria and I each covered an entrance and both looked out at the front. Mom and Lydia really nailed their job. I think everyone attending Draco’s event was drinking out there. Good. Drunks made it all better.

  Draco arrived with a huge entourage of Aeginian and Athenian lawmakers. He came through my entrance.

  “One of the blonde twins.” The manager pointed me out, and I bowed in deference. Draco nodded appreciatively and took one of the fliers from my hand.

  “What a stroke of genius!” Draco roared with glee.

  “Thank you!” The manager bowed and scraped. I didn’t mind him taking all the credit. If it worked the way we wanted it to, he would be also saddled with the blame…sort of.

  Draco put his hand on my arm and gave me a leering grin. It took all I had not to cringe and pull away. He had to believe I was his biggest fan—that was what we’d told the manager.

  So I beamed and nodded. When he took his hand off me, I sighed with relief. I was sure I’d been forgotten moments later as they took Draco to his dressing room.

  People began lurching through the doorway a few moments later, and I handed each and every one of them a handbill. I’d never seen so many expensive, brightly colored woolen cloaks! The local society was really doing their part! I made a mental note to thank Mom and Lydia later.

  “Don’t forget to throw your cloaks out of respect when Draco steps onto the floor!” I called out as I handed out all my thousands of handbills. Everyone was having a pretty good time from the huge tailgate party out front. They rushed past me without giving me a second glance.

  As soon as I handed out my last flier, I raced to the other entrance to join Ria, who was just handing out the last of hers. We looked at each other, then raced up into the stands to watch what would happen.

  We had stashed our cloaks earlier underneath where we planned to sit. Sitting near Mom and Lydia would not be a good idea. We didn’t want anyone to connect us to each other. Besides, Lydia still operated on this island, and we didn’t want to endanger her turf.

  Our work was done, really. All we could do was sit and wait. Have you ever been a teenage girl who had to sit and wait? It’s agonizing torture. Ria and I were so nervous we couldn’t even talk. What’s that about?

  Time was passing slowly, and the audience was growing impatient. A new worry crept in. What if they started to sober up? What if Draco was a total diva and decided to be fashionably late? What if people threw their cloaks too early?

  I’d only ever seen a cloak drop once. It was a kindly old poet from Sparta. Because it was the heat of the summer, people only threw light tunics. The poet was so happy he cried, which was cool cuz he seemed nice.

  This would be different, if it worked at all, I told myself. I pinched Ria, who was examining her manicure again. She gave me a look that said, What can we do but wait?

  The trumpets started up, and the crowd was on its feet. The moment had arrived! The fanfare ended, and at the far end of the arena, Draco stepped forward onto the floor, arms raised and a smile on his face. The crowd cheered and a few cloaks began to fall as Draco walked toward the center of the arena.

  I held my breath, waiting to see if we pulled it off. The crowd began to roar as Draco stopped in the center of the floor, arms raised as he spun around.

  Cloaks and hats rained down on the man like a wool thunderstorm. The sky was blocked by the thousands of huge, heavy rectangles of cloth that fell. It was more than I ever imagined. As more fell, the crowd got louder and rowdier.

  On the arena floor, cloaks started to land on Draco. He laughed like a child, delighted in the amount of tribute. What an egomaniac. More and more clothes filled the air and more piled on top of him.

  Draco laughed a bit more, crawling out from the cloaks only to be covered by more. He started to struggle with the weight of the material, and his smile began to fade.

  The amazing amount of clothing inspired the crowd to roar louder as if they were going for a world record. To my shock, men around me began stripping to the waist, throwing as much as they could. Even sandals were starting to rain down.

  “Well this is a bit much,” I mumbled to Ria, who seemed hypnotized by the frenzied mob. The smell of half-naked, sweaty and drunken men around us was dizzying, and the air started to fill with fuzz of all things.

  On the floor, Draco was seriously struggling. After a moment, I lost sight of him entirely as more and more cloaks, chitons and tunics flew from the stands. The lump beneath the weight of material slowed in its struggling. It was alarming and fascinating at the same time.

  The manager seemed to realize what was happening and started to run out onto the floor, shouting for the crowd to stop. They just buried him too—not fatally, I think.

  Draco’s entourage started to run out to the floor, dodging the capes as they made their way to the middle. More clothing flew, and I worried that the people around me were now completely naked. I didn’t even look to see, but I thought I saw Ria turn.

  The men on the floor were desperately trying to keep themselves above the material as they tore at the covered body of Draco. The crowd had gone completely berserker, seeming to forget what they were doing there.

  Ria tapped me on the arm and I nodded. We fought our way through the crowd until we made it to the ground level. I was covered in bumps and bruises and half deaf before we made it there.

  The manager had been knocked unconscious and was being carried out by a few men. Several of the entourage had given up and crawled out past us. The crowd was just starting to calm down. It was as if they were hypnotized, and I thought they looked like they didn’t know where they were.

  The two remaining members of the entourage had finally managed to uncover Draco’s body. One of the men put his ear to Draco’s chest. The crowd seemed to sense that something was wrong and became eerily quiet. Within seconds, it had gone from a deafening roar to being able to hear a pin hit the earth below our feet.

  Ria and I looked at each other. I felt her hand in mine. We held our breath and waited.

  The man looked up at the other member of the entourage and slowly shook his head. Draco was dead. We’d done it! For a moment I almost high-fived my sister, but then I realized that with our job done, it was time to go. We stuffed the wigs and colored chitons in a bag we’d brought and slipped away. And yeah, it was that easy.

  * * *

  Draco’s death had a sobering effect on the rest of the festival. Ria and I stayed at Lydia’s with Mom, nursing our many bruises and quietly congratulating ourselves.

  “That was a bit more dangerous than I thought it would be,” Mom said that first night. “Can you believe how that went down?”

  Lydia shook her head. “I have to admit, it was extremely effective. The girls did their job. And it certainly looked like an accident.�
��

  “Death by PR,” I said slowly.

  Ria nodded. “That was an extremely successful hit. But the frenzy was terrifying.”

  “I know, right?” I asked. “I didn’t see that coming. And I don’t think I’ll be able to wear a cloak again…ever.”

  * * *

  We arrived back in Athens to find Grandma Sicily waiting for us. Mom, Ria and I all exchanged glances. Grandma was not only our mother’s mom, but also the head of the Bombay Council. She was tougher than Hercules and shrewder than Hera. A visit from her wasn’t usually a good thing.

  Dad ushered us into the library and wisely left, shutting the door behind him. We could hear him giving the staff orders to work on something on the other side of the house.

  Grandma said nothing for a moment, and Ria and I twitched nervously.

  “Mother,” Mom said calmly, “what an unexpected surprise.”

  Grandma nodded and then narrowed her eyes at us before speaking. “A bit of overkill, was it not?”

  I nodded. “It did get a bit out of hand.”

  “And very expensive,” Grandma said with a little cough.

  Ria chewed her lip, “Yes Grandmama. But we covered it out of our own pockets.”

  Our grandmother looked away toward the window and sighed. It didn’t sound like a good sigh. Clearly we were in trouble.

  Grandma cleared her throat. “Best damned laugh I ever had.” And then she started to laugh for real. “He was smothered,” she said between wheezing giggles, “by his own—” another cough “—self-admiration!” She started to cough so violently Mom went over and patted her on the back until she stopped.

  Ria and I were frozen, not daring to say anything.

  “You know,” Grandma said, “I was a twin too.”

  Both of our jaws dropped open. We looked to Mom who only nodded with a small smile.

  “Back then,” Grandma continued, “we weren’t allowed to work together. Not like you two. And twins run in the Bombays. Every other generation has a pair.”

  “We didn’t know that, Grandmama,” I said. I wondered what happened to her twin. I’d never heard anything about it before.

  Grandma rose to her feet very slowly. Mom helped her up.

  “Good job girls,” she said. “The Council just wanted you to know you can continue to work together for as long as you want.” She made her way to the door and turned. “And we expect great things from you.”

  As she went out the door, we heard her laughing again. “Suffocated by publicity! Hilarious!” And the door closed behind her.

  Bavaria Bombay—The Dragon of York

  700 CE, Northumbria

  “What do you mean, I have to kill a magic dragon?” I stared at my mother, hoping she was out of her mind—which was highly possible in this family. She ran her fingers over the elaborately embroidered tapestry.

  “Just what I said, Bavaria. Honestly, you shouldn’t question me so! The Council knows what it’s doing.” Mother straightened her long, pointed hat and adjusted her veil. “Besides, we’ve already been paid. You are to leave for Northumbria tonight.” She shooed me away and called for her minstrels. I knew that I’d get nothing further from her. Mother never did anything when she listened to her afternoon “stories.”

  I nodded and bowed, as was befitting for a man to do toward a woman of my mother’s stature, and left the room to ready my things. Great. A magic dragon. Why couldn’t it just be a Danish prince or something? Hamlet was driving people nuts in Elsinore. My idiot cousin, Richard, took out Hamlet’s father a few months back and the kid was a raving lunatic. It’s so much easier to kill someone who sees ghosts. I could make it look self-inflicted while he’s all, “Alas, my poor father, blah…blah…blah…” But the Bombays didn’t make the contracts—they just carried them out.

  There was no point in arguing when you worked in the family business, and that business was assassination. You took your assignment whether you liked it or not and carried it out to its usually bloody conclusion. That was that.

  I kicked at a stone with my extremely soft, velvet shoe. The pain was excruciating. Wasn’t there a way to make stronger shoes? I didn’t want to wear my armor all the time. It was the eighth century, for crying out loud! The only good thing about killing a dragon would be I could use his hide to make some tougher shoes.

  A dragon? I mean, sure, we’d all heard about them. There were a lot of dusty books in the library about them. Even part of the Bombay training included dragons and magical creatures. But as far as I knew no one had ever seen one, let alone slain one.

  I’d had contracts to kill strange things before. I took out a witch in Wessex. Witches float you know, so if they sink, they aren’t witches. Turned out this one wasn’t, but you really can’t be too careful.

  I was contracted to kill a cannibal in the Cotswolds once. He wasn’t a very good cannibal. Apparently he thought it rude if he didn’t ask permission from his intended meal first. Not surprisingly, they all said, no, so he was basically starving when I killed him, but he still made the peasants nervous, and that still counts. Then there was that giant in Godmundingham who was crushing folks who didn’t pay him not to crush them. I had to jump off a roof onto his back just to slit his throat. And there was that weird, dog-like thing in East Anglia who’d developed a taste for priests who didn’t wash their hands after eating mutton. But a magic dragon? Really?

  Still, the tapestries that gave us our orders didn’t lie. And considering it takes the Council months and months to embroider them, they clearly have enough time to think about it and change their minds.

  Judea was in my room waiting for me. He was my squire, and whether I liked it or not, my nephew. Turns out, I did like him, mostly because he didn’t talk much. We all start out as squires during our training. I’d squired for my Aunt Sicily. She was amazing in that she could kill a man with her embroidery needle, and they’d never find a mark on the bodies. I learned a lot from her. It was really too bad she was accidentally murdered by the Welsh with rakes and pitchforks. You really can be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “We’re going to Northumbria tonight,” I said as I sat down on a bench with a sigh. “A magic dragon of all things.”

  Judea (or Jude, as I preferred to call him) nodded as if he heard this every day and began to pack my clothes. I sharpened my sword because I didn’t know what else to do. What is the best way to kill a dragon? And a magic dragon at that? What kind of magic did a dragon wield? How would I kill it if I didn’t know what it did to defend itself? What if it was invisible and could sneak up on me? Or what if it could set me on fire just by looking at me? I wasn’t prepared for that. So much to think about on the road.

  I was not partial to Northumbria. They did have a few fetching wenches at the various inns in town. But for the most part, the people were ignorant and cold. If they weren’t covered in pox scars, it was some other hideous disease. And they were snooty. I hated that.

  Jude helped me dress, and after a quick meal, we rode out. Even the trip was dull. Nothing but a few stiles and muddy fields filled with unimaginative cows. I was tired. And old. At the ripe old age of twenty-four, I was nearing the end of my life outside the castle. My armor creaked on my back. It would need to be oiled when we arrived. I shot a glance at Jude, who ignored me. I was pretty sure he rolled his eyes heavenward—whatever that means.

  “How does one kill a magic dragon, Jude?” I asked my page.

  “Depends on what kind of magic it has, I guess,” Jude answered.

  “I’m a little sketchy on this. What kinds of magic are there?”

  Jude stared off to his right, his shoulders slouched in a surly manner. “Well, I guess there are the fire-breathers…and I think they all fly…” His gaze slowly turned on me. “I heard of one once who mates with itself to produce more dragons.” Jude scratched his nose, slowly.

  “That’s it?” I asked. “Are you sure that’s all they can do?” Because if it was, this might be easier than I
thought.

  Jude nodded. “One of the minstrels told me there was a dragon in Cornwall who could speak the King’s English and liked to tell bawdy jokes.” And then, as quickly as his chattiness had begun it ended. And Jude slouched back into silence.

  That didn’t sound too bad. Flying and fire-breathing could be a problem…if the beast was awake. I’d have to catch it asleep somehow. I wasn’t too concerned about the possibility of it mating with itself—in fact, that could be a distraction that would help me kill it. My mind wandered through all the possible positions a dragon would take to mate with itself.

  As to the talking, perhaps I could reason with the beast if it did that. If not, I might die laughing listening to its dirty jokes while it fried me. That didn’t sound too bad, either.

  I rather liked my job, really. There was the travel, the women that came with the travel and a great deal of variety, what with killing a giant one year and a cannibal the next. And I was good with a sword and enjoyed fighting. As Bombays, our loyalties to any one lord were off-limits, and, for the most part, the current ruler understood this. The Bombay Family provided a valuable service.

  But because of this, I was unable to join up with any army and fight—something I enjoyed doing. That doesn’t mean other family members haven’t tried. There are some rather unfortunate chapters of Bombays who fled the family to fight on one side of a war. This never lasted, because Bombays are ruthless at hunting down those in the family who go rogue. Why let an army have the fun of killing us when we will do it ourselves for free?

  Still, life wasn’t all that great. Marriage was a difficult process. Your intended had to agree to the Bombay ‘lifestyle’ and to have their children raised as assassins. Men marrying women Bombays had to take on the Bombay Family name. Some were very successful in this. Mother seemed happy. My father was landed gentry and couldn’t care less what she or I did. He spent all his time reading books anyway.

 

‹ Prev